The 4th book in John Norman's Telnarian Histories is now here, and to whet your appetites we at the Chronicles of Gor are proud to bring you the first chapter. You can read the full chapter here, but part of it is reproduced below. Enjoy!

Chapter One

"Prepare yourself, Cornhair!" snapped the brunette, who was first girl, and carried a switch.

"'Filene'!" said the blonde.

"Why 'Filene'?" said the brunette.

"It is my name!" said the blonde.

"Why is it your name?" laughed the brunette.

The blonde was silent.

"Speak," said the brunette, "or my switch will play a merry melody on your silken hide, and, as you are, you will feel it, and keenly!"

"Because it is the name Masters have given me!" said the blonde, tears in her eyes. Almost without thinking, she lifted her hand to her throat. She wore, as did the brunette, a Telnarian slave necklace, of the sort favored in some of the provinces. It was all she wore.

"Kneel, Cornhair," said the brunette.

The blonde knelt. Instant obedience is expected in a slave, to any free person, and even to another slave, if possessed of authority over her.

The blonde touched the light, small chain locked about her neck, with its pendant metal disk. The disk, in three languages, including a Herul pictograph, identified her as a property of the Telnarian empire, to be returned, if found, to the office of the provincial governor, in Venitzia. In her transportation to the camp, her naked body bundled in a thick fur sack and hood, the chain had been housed in a soft, leather sleeve, which is not uncommon in the cold, or in a situation where the slave might be exposed to cold. Indoors, or in warmer areas, sleeves are removed from such "necklaces." The reason for this is simple. Men like to see the chain on a slave's neck. Metal against female flesh is sexually stimulating. It is even more so when it is understood that the woman is a slave, and the device is, in effect, a slave collar, which she cannot remove. It does not take long for an enslaved woman to gather that she is now, is expected to be, and must be, a stimulating sexual object.

"You look well on your knees, Cornhair," said the brunette, "—as any slave."

The blonde and the brunette were in a rearward portion of a long tent, one of four at the camp, inside the defense perimeter. These four tents were designed for imperial occupants, even of rank; accordingly, they were floored, insulated, and heated. They were small oases of comfort in the wilderness outside Venitzia, even in the month of Igon, even at the edge of a forest, into which not even Heruls would penetrate, a forest rumored to be roamed by Otungs.

"For what am I to prepare myself?" asked the blonde.

"The camp has a visitor," said the brunette.

"The sought barbarian, he has been found?" exclaimed the blonde. "He, Ottonius!"

"The Master, Ottonius," said the brunette.

"Yes," said the blonde, "the Master, Ottonius!"

Slaves do not address free persons by their name. They address free men as "Master" and free women as "Mistress."

"It seems he recalls you from the Narcona," said the brunette.

The blonde felt giddy.

"You served him on the ship," said the brunette.

"He did but interrogate me and use me for a servile task," said the blonde.

"What task?" inquired the brunette.

"Polishing his boots," said the blonde.

"That is all?" said the brunette, skeptically.

Putting the slave to a servile task, particularly if she has recently been free, before putting her to one's pleasure, is often thought to be instructive. It helps them better understand what it is to be a slave. Interestingly, the performance of such small, homely tasks, caring for a Master's quarters, cleaning his garments, preparing his food, expectantly awaiting his return, and the opportunity to welcome him, kneeling before him, and such, can be sexually stimulating to the slave. Many a free woman fails to understand the joys of submission, and the yielding totality and warmth of a woman's bondage, for slavery, for the slave, is a wholeness, a mode of being, a way of life, a life of surrender, of serving, of love, and devotion. In helpless bondage, choiceless, mastered, and owned, she is contented, grateful, and fulfilled; she is as she would have herself.

"Yes, Mistress," said the blonde.

As first girl, the brunette was as Mistress to the blonde.

The blonde recalled how the barbarian had taped her mouth shut and bound her, kneeling, at the foot of his bed, and then slept. How her feelings had wavered, and disturbed her, how she had wanted to hate him, and had, at the same time, helpless at the foot of his bed, longed for his hands upon her body, holding and caressing her, with thoughtless, severe, possessive authority, as a slave may be held and caressed. How well the slave knows herself, nothing, and owned, and trembles with a responsiveness no free woman can understand, save in her dreams, thrashing in bonds, or grasped in the implacable might of her Master's arms.

"Why then would he wish you at the supper?" asked the brunette.

"I do not know," said the blonde.

"Your lineaments are acceptable," said the brunette. "That is probably enough."

"Four will serve," said the brunette, "you amongst them. Perhaps, if you beg prettily enough, he may, after the men are done with their business, as the conclusion of an evening's collation of wine and tarts, bed you for his pleasure."

"What is wrong?" asked the brunette.

"Nothing, Mistress," said the blonde.

The heart and body of the blonde churned with tumult. It was with difficulty that she restrained herself from reaching to the floor, to steady herself. It would be unwise, of course, to break position before a superior.

It was as though she suddenly found herself on a plank, unsteady, frightened, precariously located, a yawning abyss disappearing, leagues below.

The time was at hand, for which she had waited, for so long, enduring such hardships, and humiliations, as though she might be naught but another meaningless slave.

Surely no more than one or two in the camp, those who would supply the tool of assassination, whose identity or identities were unknown to her, knew her true identity, that she was not a slave, at all, but, rather, was a free woman, the Lady Publennia Calasalia, and a free woman not merely of the honestori, but of patrician stock, indeed, one once of the Larial Calasalii, before being disavowed, because of waywardness and debts, even to the obliteration of her name from the relevant rolls of lineage. Long ago, in a private audience, late at night, with sober, cunning Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol in the court of the Emperor Aesilesius, he aware of the miseries and nigh destitution of her lot, she had been recruited to perform a tiny task, in which no more than a single drop of blood need be shed, but a drop on which might ride, so delicately, breaking not even the surface, the fate of worlds, and the winds of power, reaching to the ten thousand sectors of an empire, for small things in a single palace, or court, or audience room, or hallway, an order given, a glance exchanged, a nod, might be eventually felt, borne on the wings of light, and piercing the charted thresholds and passes of space, to the farthest outposts of the limitanei, verging on the remote, threatened perimeters of the empire itself.

"Perhaps he will find you of interest," said the brunette.

"'Of interest'!" exclaimed the blonde, angrily.

The brunette looked at her, puzzled. What an odd cry, she thought, from a slave. "You had best hope so," she said, "lest you be whipped, discarded, sold, or slain."

"Of course, Mistress," said the blonde, lowering her head, humbly.

Soon, she told herself, this dreadful matter, with its humiliations and degradations, would be done. The chain then, with haste and abject apologies, might be removed from her neck.

She could not remove it herself, of course. It was on her, as much as on the neck of any slave. How fearful it would be, she thought, to truly be a slave! How she might then pull at that chain, helplessly, wildly, fearfully, and know it truly on her, signifying to all who might look upon her what then she would be, a property, as much as a pig or dog!

Happily it would soon be removed, when her task was done.

Welcome to John Norman'sChronicles of Gor

It is my honour to welcome you to this, the new home for John Norman on the internet.

Back in 2001, New World Publishers was formed with the aim of bringing the Gor series back into print. To accompany that, a website was created, World of Gor. That site was set up with the support and input of John Norman himself, and was in many ways his home on the internet. As a result of the efforts of New World Publishers, Witness of Gor was published, the first new Gor book in well over a decade, but despite that achievement, sadly, that publishing effort failed, and the website set up to accompany it was largely abandoned, and left unfinished.

That was not the end of the story though. E-Reads, who had already released some of the series in ebook form, decided to publish the full series in both ebook and printed form. With things once more moving, John Norman needed a new home. As I was already involved with E-Reads, having assisted in the editorial processes for the new E-Reads editions of the books, I was approached with a view to putting together a site, and thus the seeds were sown. It's been a long road since then, and it's not been all plain sailing, but at last, here we are. The seeds have germinated, and from them has grown the site you now see. This is only the start though. With your help and support this site will continue to grow, with new features, and new articles.

This is the new home of John Norman, and I'm delighted to say that every once in a while you will be able to read a message from him. It's also the new home for the Chronicles of Gor, and you'll be able to find the very latest news and information right here.

Now, over the years there has been considerable controversy surrounding the Gor series. Much of this controversy is because of a number of misconceptions about the Gor books, and about John Norman and what he himself believes. We've addressed a number of these misconceptions later on this page, below the personal message from John Norman.

In a moment I'll hand over to the man himself, but first, on behalf of the whole team, to whom I owe an enormous debt of gratitude, I bid you welcome. Please look around, and explore what we have to offer.

I wish you well,

Simon of Tabor

A personal message from John Norman

How astonishing is the world-wide Gorean phenomenon!

How unexpected, certainly to me, that anything so different, and so remarkable, could occur.

It was not suspected, it was not sought, it was not envisioned.

I sometimes think of myself as some fellow wandering about, say, a thousand years ago, in some wilderness, who might by accident have discovered magnetism, or some new force of nature, one he did not understand, but one whose reality, once glimpsed, was as undeniable as that of iron ore, or rain, or wind, or lightning. He brings his discovery to the halls of indoctrination, mistakenly, and learns to his surprise that reality may not exist without permission and approval. It is permitted to exist only selectively, and then must be authorized, even licensed. The unlicensed reality is to be denied, or, at least, discreetly concealed.

Exploration, accordingly, is perilous.

And discovery seems to be worse.

One can live a three-quarters existence, of course. Most people do, or less. Certainly the nest is cozy; why leave home; the horizon is faraway; maybe it's cold out there; it is different, at least; but one grows weary of worms; and one suspects wings have a purpose.

Is reality so terrible? That does not seem clear. We have been living with it for fifty thousand years, and sometimes we have even acknowledged that fact.

In any event, iron ore, and rain, and wind, and lightning are not voted on; they are not forwarded out of committees; they are part of the fabric of things, and intrude, however inexcusably; they seek no permissions, no approvals.

There is such a thing as human nature, the human heart, the human mind, the human body.

At any rate we did not invent the biotruths of human nature, no more than we invented vision, speech, the circulation of blood, the beating of the heart.

We did not invent men and women.

They are what they are, and what they are not is hollow vessels to be filled with whatever sugars and syrups their betters, the anointed cooks of humanity, the intolerant coveters of power and would-be imposers of values, see fit to pour into receptive, neutral containers, containers empty in themselves. How fortunate are the containers to be labeled from the outside by strangers who do not know them, or themselves, and to be filled with whatever contents these outsiders might deem in their own best interests! Too, the human being is not a social artifact, but a living thing, a remarkable animal; he is not a manufactured product, not a paper knife or can opener, not a party hat or rubber stamp, designed for purposes other than his own, though surely the original animal can be twisted and tortured into a variety of unusual forms. Is there any fact more visible on the assembly lines of society? The fact that a tree can be denied minerals and water, that its roots can be poisoned, its branches and bark torn away, and its leaves removed, delicately, one by one, alters nothing. The fact that the tree is not allowed to flourish, to fulfill its genetic destiny, does not prove that it cannot flourish, nor that it lacks a genetic destiny. Indeed the subversion of such truths presupposes their existence. The modern human is too often a bonsai human, cropped, stunted, and potted. The fact that a living thing can be twisted, torn, and pruned into a diversity of madnesses, depending on the ideology of power-seeking establishments, political, religious, and otherwise, alters nothing.

The dictators of values are short on credentials; their self-certifications are pompous and vacuous; the papacies of their self-canonization are suspect. Sometimes I think they suffer from brain damage; perhaps their halos are too heavy.

With all due respect one might offer the test of life consequences. Is it not worth considering?

If an ideology produces unhappiness, misery, grief, division, sickness, boredom, and hatred, surely this is not a commendation but an indictment.

Let men and women be themselves.

Do they not deserve the opportunity to inquire into their own natures, as they are, not as they are told they should be?

In any event, the Gorean civilization suggests that civilizations need not be prisons, suppressing, injuring, and minimizing their victims, but might be enhancements of nature, indeed, a part of nature, in her development, not her antithesis, not her adversary.

And so, what would be the great harm if, here and there, there might be occasional enclaves of rationality, and honesty, a few scattered pockets of health and sanity?

That does not seem so terrible.

So let the Gorean experiment continue.

And so I herewith welcome, and most heartily, a new, remarkable venue, a new harbor in Gorean waters, a new fortress in her mountains, a new, defiant city to be recorded on her maps, the Chronicles of Gor.

As most of you know, there is some controversy over John Norman's Chronicles of Gor series, but is it deserved? The most common accusation we hear is that John Norman is a misogynist who advocates the subjugation, physical abuse, enslavement, and rape of women. Another common complaint is that John Norman's books are poorly written trash with no literary merit whatsoever. As the title of this essay suggests, I believe these unfavorable characterizations are due to misconceptions about John Norman, his purpose in writing the Gorean saga, and the books themselves.

Let's look at the word misogynist. The most common definition of the word is, "One who hates women."1

Could a man that truly despises women write loving and poetic passages like these?

"Human females are such rich and wonderful creatures. Their sexual life, and feelings, are subtle, complex and deep. How naive is the man who believes that having sex with a woman is so little or brief a thing as to fall within the parameters of a horizontal plane, the simple stimulations of a skin, the results attendant upon a simplistic manual dexterity. How woefully ignorant are the engineers of sexuality. How much to learn have even her artists and poets! Women are so inordinately precious. They are so sensitive, so beautiful, so intelligent and needful. No man has yet counted the dimensions of a woman's love. Who can measure the horizons of her heart? Few things, I suspect, are more real than those which seem most intangible."2

"How subtle and deep was the intelligence of women, I thought. How much they know. How much they can sense. How simple and crude, how naive, sometimes seems the intelligence of men compared to the intelligence of women. What deep and wonderful creatures they are. Who can truly understand the emotional depths and needs, eons old, of these flowers of nature and evolution? How natural, then, it is, that the truly loving man will concern himself not with her distortions and perversions, ultimately barren, but with her emotional and sensuous truths, ancient and deep within her, with what might be called her biological and natural fulfillment."3

It seems to me that those who accuse John Norman of misogyny have either never read the Gor books or have given them only the most cursory examination.

What about the claims that John Norman advocates the subjugation, physical abuse, enslavement, and rape of women? Perhaps the following quote will help dispel those misconceptions.

"The fact, of course, that rape is a common sexual fantasy of women does not indicate that women, in any general sense, wish to be raped. They would surely, at the very least, wish to choose the time and the place, and the circumstances and the man. Rape, as a sociological reality, is commonly an ugly, brutal, unpleasant, sickening, horrifying, vicious act. It degrades the man and it doesn't do the woman much good either. Not only does she receive little or no pleasure, but the whole affair has no more intrinsic worth or dignity than a mugging. Further, sadly, she is likely to be brutalized and, at the least, intimidated. This is to take advantage of a weaker creature, who cannot adequately, in most cases, defend herself. The rapist, unless there are some extenuating factors, such as severe mental illness, scarcely comes up to scratch for a human being. To pick on a woman, because she is smaller and weaker, is much the same thing as to pick on a child or animal; or, it is much the same thing as a young man striking an old man; or a large, strong man beating a small, weak man; it is just something that it is not worthy to do. It is not that it need be a "sick" thing to do, though doubtless in some cases it is; it is rather that there is just no manhood in it."4

Norman appears to have a pretty low opinion of anyone that would actually, subjugate, abuse, or rape a woman.

So what was Norman's purpose in writing the Gorean saga? I imagine one purpose was to earn a little extra money in order to better support his family or perhaps to see if he could write a heroic fantasy in the tradition of Edgar Rice Burroughs, but the main purpose seems to have been providing a satirical counterpoint to the more extreme rhetoric of radical feminists.

Those of you who grew up in the 60's, 70's & 80's will no doubt be familiar with the following extraordinary statements:

"Since marriage constitutes slavery for women, it is clear that the Women's Movement must concentrate on attacking this institution. Freedom for women cannot be won without the abolition of marriage."5

"Rape is the primary heterosexual model for sexual relating. Rape is the primary emblem of romantic love. Rape is the means by which a woman is initiated into her womanhood as it is defined by men."6

"We name orgasm as the epistemological mark of the sexual, and we therefore criticise it too as oppressive to women."7

It was comments like these that Norman sought to lampoon. The radical feminists equated romantic love and marriage with slavery, so the only romantic relationships Norman explores in detail in the books are, of course, with slaves. The most extreme feminists categorize all sex as rape, so Norman repeatedly has eager and willing slaves beg their masters for "slave rape". Lastly, female orgasm is claimed to be "oppressive to women", so the "oppressed" slave is described as having the most immediate and powerful sexual and orgasmic responses. Clearly Norman is using slavery as a metaphor in order to explore the absurdity of radical feminist dogma.

Norman is hardly the only author to use a distasteful metaphor to explore more deeply into the human psyche. Nancy Springer invariably castrates at least one male character in nearly every book she writes, but are there hordes of people claiming that Ms. Springer is "advocating" the castration of men? Of course not, most people understand that she uses castration to explore the nature of manhood. Was there a huge outcry against Sheri S. Tepper for "advocating" eugenics in her book, The Gate to Women's Country? Or for portraying men as naturally disposed towards violence and war? No - it's obvious to people that Tepper is exploring the ethical and emotional consequences of selective breeding and secrecy. It's a shame that Mr. Norman isn't accorded the same understanding.

Most of you know that John Norman has a PhD. in philosophy, but what is less well known is that he also has a graduate degree in classical history. Norman puts all of his education to work in his novels. He borrows from classical history not only to build the various cultures found on Gor, but also in various allusions to classical mythology. A few more obvious examples are Norman's reference to Beowulf8, the Ring of Gyges9, and to the Gordian Knot10 & Alexander11 (both directly and obliquely).

And, of course, Norman also uses his degree in philosophy to good effect - regularly exploring such concepts as honor, courage, duty, being true to oneself, and love - especially true love - which Mr. Norman recommends highly.

"Many people, of course, fear love, doubtlessly rightly, for love is a vast, tender, profound, binding instinct, which makes great differences in those lives it floods. The human being is both a single organism and a double organism. The human being consists either of a man or a woman, or the two in love. It is natural for the single organism in each of us to fight for its independence, its freedom to be self-seeking and selfish, and self-striving. But it is natural, too, for the single organism to desire its completion in the mated pair. The matter can be argued subtly but those who have been touched by love, usually briefly, have no doubt as to its superiority. Love, once tasted, is in no danger of ever again being regarded as inferior to egotism. Those who have tried both, and we have all tried the latter, would, were it possible, choose the former."12

There will always be those that refuse to see the truth about John Norman and his books, but as Norman says:

"Truth is a strange thing. There is a danger in seeking it, for one might find it. That one does not like a truth does not make it false. How few people understand that! But there are many sorts of truths, as there are flowers and beasts. Some truths are hard and cold, and sharp, and if one touches them one might cut oneself and bleed. Some truths are like dark stones which do little more that exist unnoticed; others are green with the glow of life, like moist grass rustling in the morning sun/ some truths are like frowns; and some are like smiles. Some are friendly; others are hostile; and, in both cases, their nature is just what it is, not what they may be said to be. Politics is not the arbiter of truth; it may be the arbiter of comfort, safety, conformity, and success, but it is not the arbiter of truth; the arbiter of truth is the world and nature; they have the last say in these matters. Many may wish it were not the case; and many will pretend it is not the case; but it is, for better or for worse, the case. Truth does not care whether it is believed or not; similarly, stone walls and cliffs do not care whether they are noted or not; so then let us leave it to the individual to do as he thinks best. Truth, the stone wall, the cliff, are not enemies; but they are real."13

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